


so you think

by sleepdeprivedphilosopher



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AND DRAMA, Alternate Universe - Dance, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dance partners, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, I Tried, I dunno how to explain this, Knowing me, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Simon, Reality TV, Strong Language, a poor description of ballroom dance, and short, and whatever else I feel like, but now it is long and angsty, but ya knew that, for the ratings, no beta we die like men, or well former fake relationship, reality show contestants, really thou what did you expect here, sort of like a mix between all the dancing shows, the world is on fire have a dance au, this is reality tv, this was supposed to funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedphilosopher/pseuds/sleepdeprivedphilosopher
Summary: Former classmates Simon Snow and Baz Pitch are contestants on a hit reality dance show and they can't stand each other. Instead of making them resolve this like adults the producers of the show decided to have them pretend to be bitter ex school sweethearts for thedrama. On top of that, they made them dance partners. You know for the ratings.Simon and Baz didn't go into this expecting that the competition would be easy, but being forced to dance with your childhood nemesis/crush seems a bit like overkill.
Relationships: Keris/Trixie (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 44
Kudos: 77





	1. tango

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightimedreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon gets a thumbs up from a cameraman. baz gets dropped on his ass twice. they both hate the producers for doing this to them but for different reasons. 
> 
> honesty and the truth need not apply. here only the ratings matter. 
> 
> welcome to reality tv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, void
> 
> so this is inspired by a prompt I got from tumblr courtesy of @nightimedreamer. _we’re contestants on a reality show and we kind of hate each other so the producers told us to pretend to be warring exes for the ratings so now we keep inventing crazier and crazier things the other did while we were dating_
> 
> I don't watch much reality tv, but I've always enjoyed _dancing with the stars_ , and _so you think you can dance_. so that's the type of show I went with. this fic started out small and ballooned so I have no idea how long it will end up being. hopefully not too long. 
> 
> anyway here we go
> 
> enjoy?

**Simon**

Baz leaves the stage to massive applause (some people might even be on their feet). He's smiling and waving, looking picture-perfect despite the sweat and heaving shoulders. 

One of the aids hands him a water bottle, and he smiles at her gratefully before downing it. She takes the empty bottle back without being asked, and another aid gives him a towel, which he uses to start mopping up his sweat. His cheeks are flushed, and pieces of his black hair are coming undone from their neat bun, framing his face. 

I don't know how he does it. Whenever I get off stage after a performance my costume is soaked and my face is completely red. My curls are a sweaty disaster and my smile is too big to hide my nerves. It isn't a good look (I've seen the footage). Baz, on the other hand, looks just as beautiful as he always does. 

It isn't fair. 

There's always a commercial break while contestants catch their breath before they get their scores from the judges. Once the time is up Baz is going to go meet them and get his perfect thirty firmly cementing his lead in the current ranking. He's first, and I'm dead last (figures). 

After Baz gets his perfect score, it's my turn, so I'm waiting off in the wings until they give me the signal. Baz is still smiling (probably because he knows just as well as I do that he's getting that thirty) until he sees me. His smile drops and he's giving me his patented bored expression. The same expression he's been cultivating since we were kids. 

"Snow," he greets me cooly. 

Suddenly there's a camera recording us. Internally I sigh. 

I had hoped that this would be over now that we're out of training. I hoped our audience would be tired of this drama and focused instead on the competition. But no apparently people are just as invested in Baz and I's relationship as ever. It is one of the highest drawing factors this season if the producers are to be believed. 

A part of me thinks that had I known this was going to happen, I wouldn't have tried out for this show at all. If I knew that Baz would be here and not only that but that I would have to pretend I dated him while we were in school and broke up with him our last year, I wouldn't have bothered. Sure the winner gets a full-ride scholarship to Juilliard and ten thousand dollars on top of that (not to mention all the contacts I'll be gathering the further I get), but even all of that shouldn't be worth the trouble of living with Baz again. 

We spent our entire schooling rooming together at Watford from age eleven to eighteen, and I hoped that I would never have to see him again after we graduated. Of course, the universe isn't that kind. 

I auditioned for this show, got in by some miracle, making me the happiest I'd been since I'd been accepted to Watford and all that came crashing down when they assigned me my roommate and Baz Pitch was standing there sneering at me. 

At least this time, we're not sharing a room, just a suite, but it is still awful. It is just like back in Watford constant petty arguments over nothing and passive-aggressive feedback. We don't physically come to blows anymore, but it's always a close thing. 

After a few weeks of this, the higher-ups brought us in to discuss it. I was a nervous wreck I thought I was about to be kicked off the show (before we got to perform even), but it turns out once we explained that yes we knew each other from school, and yes we never got along, they instead came up with a way to _make it work for them_ as they put it. 

I thought that they'd just turn it into a school rivalry (which would be accurate), but no instead, they turned us into bitter exs.

I don't know where they got that from honestly. I thought the truth was much better, but ratings were ratings, and Baz had agreed, and I never back down from his challenges, so I agreed too. 

I've not come this far to lose to Baz again.

I'm not even sure what he's doing here, to be honest. It isn't like he needs the money (his family is loaded). Hell his mother was the previous headmistress of Watford a legendary dancer in her own right. He doesn't need to be here. He could get into Juilliard easily, just like he got into Watford. By the power of his last name alone. 

I actually need to be here. I was lucky enough to get into Watford on a scholarship. I couldn't have afforded it otherwise orphan that I am. Just like I can't afford to go to Juilliard without this scholarship. Sure the money would be nice too, but it's the scholarship I'm here for (and the contacts), I want to be a dancer. It's all I've ever wanted to be, and I refuse to let Baz take that away from me. 

The camera is still in our faces waiting to catch this latest spat. I cross my arms. "Baz," I say in the same cold tone (or at least that's what I'm going for), "How's your foot?" 

Baz sneers. "It's fine." I know it's a low blow. The damage to his foot almost lost him his place in the show, but I can't resist. He looks too smug. I need to remind him he's just as human as the rest of us. "How's your floor work?" 

"It's fine," I bite out. 

"We'll see, won't we?" he says dismissively. Like he already knows, I'll fail. 

I don't know what to say to that, so I default to glaring. 

Baz smirks again then turns on a neat heel. "I'm going to get my score, Snow. Try not to stumble this time." 

"You try not to stumble!" I yell back. Lame so lame. 

Lame enough that Baz doesn't even bother to respond. I'm treated to a view of his back. I give it a glare for good measure (maybe my eyes can burn him) before turning around. The camera is still there capturing everything, and the cameraman gives me a thumbs up. 

I hate reality TV. 

**Baz**

My legs are wrapped around Snow's waist, one of his arms around me, his left hand holding my knee. I got one hand behind his head and the other gripping his shoulder. My right side is pressed against his heaving chest, and I can feel the slight shake of his thigh from where my foot is curled around it. 

It's a precarious position, and we haven't even started spinning yet.

"Don't drop me," I warn him. 

"I'm not going to drop you," he growls back. "I haven't dropped you yet." 

"Yet being the integral word here," I drawl. 

Snow huffs instead of answering. 

There's a camera to my right (close enough to be difficult to maneuver around even if Snow wasn't holding me aloft) and our choreographer Vincent standing to my left watching us for mistakes.

"Baz loosen your grip on Simon's shoulder," Vincent instructs. 

"If I do that, he'll drop me," I argue. 

"I'm not going to drop you," Snow says again. 

"You need to trust him," Vincent says and approaches us. He taps my hand on Simon's shoulder. "You'll need a looser grip so he can transition into a side hold." 

"When we spin, I'll loosen it," I say.

Vincent doesn't look impressed. "Trust that Simon can take your weight." 

The cameraman had followed Vincent and now comes even closer. The lens is practically in my face, eager to capture every second of our trust moment. 

I hate reality TV. 

I had a chance to win this thing before they paired me up with Snow. Partner dancing is worth more than the individual and choreography categories put together. Meaning if Snow and I score low, it will severely cripple my overall score even if I manage to ace both the individual and choreography categories. 

It is possible I can keep my first place ranking, but I'll need perfect scores for both individual and choreography even to have a slim chance, and a better partner pair can easily beat it. 

Agatha and Vincent, for example, are already amazing, and they only met a month ago. Snow and I literally grew up together; we know each other's style exceptionally well, but that doesn't matter because all we do is fight. 

I should have seen this coming. The judges told us that they'd pair us off according to chemistry and strengths, but that's bullshit. Obviously, teams were chosen by the producers whose only goal is high ratings, which means drama. 

Which means Snow and I are pretending to be bitter exs forced to pair up together. Oh, the audience will love this. 

I knew going in that this competition would be tough. We're responsible for three routines per week, an individual routine that we choreograph ourselves, a partner routine that we choreograph to teach to another team, and an additional partner routine choreographed by another contestant. I knew it was going to ask a lot of me, and I was willing to put in that work, but I never signed up for being partnered with my childhood crush who hates me. 

It's cruel, really. Being this close to him and knowing he hates every minute of it.  


Vincent is still looking at me, imploringly. "Fine," I say and loosen my grip. I immediately feel less supported, but if I fall at least I'll have proved my point. 

"Good," Vincent says. "Simon bend your left knee and tilt Baz backward, then let go of his right leg and swing into a right side hold. Baz once he lets go of your right leg drop your left and kick out with your right as he swings you. Got that?" 

Snow and I nod. 

"Good, let's see it then." 

Snow swallows and bends his left knee, but instead of slightly tipping me back, he overshoots it, and we both go down in a tangle of limbs. 

I get the breath knocked out of me, and Snow bumps his head harshly against my shoulder. 

"Get off me," I say, shoving him. 

"I'm trying," Snow bites back as he violently attempts to untangle us. 

From my place on the floor, I turn and give Vincent my best condensing stare. Vincent sighs in response. "You guys okay?" he calls. 

"I just got dropped and then tackled," I drawl. "So, no." 

Snow finally manages to free himself, and he gets to his feet without offering me a hand up—this time, I give the camera a look. 

He crosses his arms. "You leaned back," he accuses. 

"I'm supposed to do that, you numpty," I say, sitting up. 

"Not that far back," he says. 

"You just need a tighter hold," I say. "I could feel you shaking." 

Snow's ears turn red. "I wasn't shaking!" 

"Yes, you were," I say and stand up. 

Vincent clears his throat pointedly. Snow and I both look at him. "I hadn't choreographed this routine with you two in mind," he says and rubs his forehead. "If I had, I would have made it much shorter." 

"Well, we weren't expecting it either," I say bitterly. "Take it up with the producers." 

Vincent sighs again (he has been doing that a lot). "From the top then." He waves a hand. 

**Simon**

I do feel a little bad about dropping Baz, but he was leaning too far back, so it is his fault too. Now we have to take it from the top again, and I can see Vincent losing patience with us. 

Baz and I take our starting positions on opposite sides of the room and walk towards each other, Vincent counting us. 

Once Baz is close enough, I reach out my hand and spin him into my arms. My left hand is on his back along the bottom of his ribcage. My right hand is holding his left. Baz has his free hand on my shoulder, and I lead him in a tight turn, then use my hold on his hand to twirl him away from me and then spin him back until he's in my arms again. Baz wraps his left leg around my bent knee and leans back into my hands, his right arm extended. I give it a beat, then yank him back into closed position and into a double reverse spin. He follows my lead and extends his left foot out as we glide across the floor. I pull us back to the middle then use my hold on him to transition us into sidestep, our heads facing the same way and our knees bent forward. From there, we mirror each step and kick up our feet, interlocking our legs on the downbeat, then spinning back around until we're facing each other again. 

I twirl Baz away from me, and he spins twice before facing me again and walking towards me. I meet him halfway, grab his hand back, spin him towards me and catch him when he throws his legs around me, our momentum enough for me to spin around four times. 

Baz's legs are wrapped around my waist, one of my arms around him, my left hand holding his knee. One of his hands is behind my head the other gripping my shoulder. He's pressed close against me. His foot curled around my thigh as we spin. 

It's strange. We've never been this close. Of course, I've never done lifts with another man before, let alone Baz, and we rarely had a routine together back in school. I've never been this close to him. Never felt his breath against my neck or his hands in my hair. There's something about it that's making my heart race and my chest feel tight. Maybe because Baz is taller than my typical partner and heavier and so it is more challenging to lead him? 

That's probably it. 

Baz's hand loosens on my shoulder, and I tighten my grip, drop my knee, and tilt him back. This time he stays in my arms as I swing him again. I let go of his leg, and Baz uses our momentum to spin away. He reaches out a hand towards me, which I use to pull him back into a low dip. 

"Much better this time," Vincent says, but I'm barely paying attention. My focus is on the recent discovery that Baz has green in his eyes and that his face seems less guarded right now, almost soft.

It's there and gone quickly enough that I think I imagined it. Baz is anything but soft. 

"Yes," Baz agrees. "Snow didn't drop me this time." 

I glare at him. He gives me a smug smirk. 

So I drop him (on purpose this time).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 12:52 on a sunday afternoon. you'd think that would mean I finally have a decent posting time, but you would be wrong since I haven't actually gone to bed yet. 
> 
> I don't even know anymore. what's life. what's existence. why are we hereeeee
> 
> -still sleep deprived.
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	2. foxtrot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon and baz exchange the worst verbal blows. simon lies about jazz shoes and baz tells a half truth about a ball. no one likes gilmore and the foxtrot requires a clear mind. 
> 
> and even if simon and baz are doomed at least they make a good looking shit show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, void
> 
> how are you holding up? I hope you're doing well. I'm still writing this dance au instead of facing my problems. I make great life choices. still at least you guys can reap the rewards of my poor decision making. 
> 
> enjoy?

**Simon**

Baz is already in the studio when I open the door. It looks like he is practicing for his solo routine. I recognize the song, but I don't know the name. I don't think he's noticed me yet his eyes are closed. He's standing with his feet close together, one in front of the other in fifth position. He turns his head as he extends his leg and lifts his arms, one above his head the other out at his side. The arm over his head gently falls towards the ground with Baz's head following. Then both arms lift softly back into fifth. His right leg extends again, his arms curled in front of him as his left leg bends, then he points his right foot and drags it across the floor, spinning into turn after turn before ending back in fifth. 

The music is delicate, and so are Baz's movements. Transitioning effortlessly from one position to another soft and controlled and slowly speeding up along with the music until he is soaring across the floor, his feet barely seem to touch the ground as he spins and leaps. His face is serene and open, almost meditative. 

It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen, and I can't take my eyes off him. 

When the song ends, he's breathing hard, and when he opens his eyes to meet mine, they're wet. 

"Baz," I say, stepping towards him. It's like I'm on a string, and he's pulling it. 

He takes half a step towards me then stops abruptly. The invisible string between us drops, and he wipes at his eyes. 

I let my hand fall. I hadn't even realized I was reaching for him. "Are you okay?" I ask. 

"I'm fine," Baz bites out, and his expression is back to being closed off. His hair is loose for once and he ties it back into a ponytail roughly. "You're here early." 

"I was going to run through the routine before you and the cameras got here," I say. It's bad enough screwing up in front of Baz, let alone in front of cameras. I wanted to nail my part before they started filming us. 

"Well, I suppose we can run through it together," Baz says, walking over to his phone plugged into the speaker. 

"What was that routine you were doing?" I ask while his back is still to me. "I thought it was your solo for this week, but you were doing ballet, and isn't your prompt jazz?" 

"It is," Baz says as our routine music starts playing. He turns around to face me and crosses his arms defensively. 

"So, what were you doing?" 

"It doesn't concern you," Baz says dismissively. "Come on, we only have twenty minutes before the crew arrives." 

He's right, so I decide to let it go. Only… "What song was that? It sounded familiar." 

"Snow," Baz growls. "Drop it." 

"Fine," I agree though I'm still curious. 

Baz sneers then gestures me over. "From the top then." 

\----

"So Simon, what happened during practice today?" The host of the show Gilmore asks me. 

"Just the usual," I answer. I don't want to say anymore, but I doubt he's going to let me get away with that. 

He points up at a screen "This is the usual?" he asks. 

I watch Baz and I. We're midway through the song when I miss a step, and Baz trips over my foot. I'm able to maintain balance enough that neither of us falls, but I might as well have let us by the look Baz is giving me. 

"Can't you do anything right, Snow?" he demands as he pulls himself from my hold. 

"Can't you be a little more forgiving?" I counter. "I told you I was struggling with this part." 

"You always were shit at anything requiring technique," Baz says, crossing his arms and cocking a hip. His classic, _I'm a better dancer than you_ pose. The pose that has been pissing me off since we were twelve. 

It always gets me, and this time is no different. The camera zooms in on my furious expression. "What's that supposed to mean?" It's a stupid question. I know exactly what he meant. 

"It means," Baz says slowly. "That you get by on luck, Snow. You don't care about the rules. Whatever feels right at the moment is how you dance. You can get away with that kind of shit in hip-hop or even contemporary, but not here. You aren't by yourself; you're dancing with a partner, so you need to follow the fucking routine." 

"I'm following the routine!" I yell back. "I just missed one step." 

"Always an excuse with you," Baz drones. 

"It isn't an excuse!" I'm yelling now. 

It's strange seeing our argument and my impending meltdown from an outside viewpoint. We're both vicious as we exchange the worst verbal blows. Getting closer and closer to the point where it looks like I might take a swing at him. 

I don't, of course. Instead, I leave the room, making sure to slam the door behind me. Baz has his head in his hands then the video cuts off. 

Gilmore turns back to face me with an imploring expression. 

I huff. Whatever. They probably already interviewed Baz anyway. It doesn't matter what I say here. He'll no doubt say something worse. 

"Baz and I got into an argument," I say. 

"I can see that," Gilmore says. I really don't like him. "Why were you fighting?" 

I run a hand through my curls. "I don't even know," I admit. "We're always fighting about something. He's so pretentious." 

"Even while you were dating?" Gilmore presses. 

I blink at him. "Baz has always been pretentious." 

"I meant, were you always fighting?" Gilmore clarifies. "Back when you were dating." 

"Oh," I say, taken aback by the reminder. We haven't done one of these talking heads in a week. I've been so busy between all the routines and choreography that I'd almost forgotten. "Yeah," I say, a bit hesitant. I'm still not comfortable with all of it. I know it's for ratings and shit, but I've never been a great liar. 

"What did you fight about?" Gilmore presses.  


What? Does he expects me to come up with a couple's spat out of thin air? I rank my brain. I guess we _were_ roommates for eight years. "He always used to get on my case for leaving my stuff around," I say, that's true enough. 

Gilmore doesn't say anything. He wants more than that. 

Ugh, this is stupid. 

"To the point," I try, "that he actually threw," Gilmore looks interested again, "my," _think of something Simon_ , "jazz shoes out the window when he knew that we had an assessment that day. I had to fish them out of the creek. I lost marks for tracking mud in the studio." 

"So this is par for the course with you two," Gilmore says, gesturing back towards the screen. 

"Yeah," I say, grateful that my jazz shoes lie seemed to satisfy him. I think the added creek detail helped sell it. "Why'd you think I ended it?" 

Gilmore smiles. Crap that might have been a step too far. Can't turn back now. "Right well, I suppose you'll have to figure something out before the show on Sunday." 

"Suppose we'll have to," I agree warily. They don't show Baz this footage, do they? 

\---

"You ended it?" Baz greets me with when I open the door to our suite.

"Um," I say and rub the back of my neck. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah," he repeats tonelessly. "Who made that call?" 

"Uh," I say, pushing past him into the room. "I did." 

"Mmmm," Baz says, shutting the door and following me. "You did." 

"Yeah," I say dumbly, turning to face him again. 

He's wearing his workout gear, a black Watford tee, and grey joggers, and he has his hair tied up. He's sweaty, so he must've gotten back just before I did. Baz is always working out lately. Like he wants to avoid our suite as much as possible. It's basically like we're back in school. 

He leans back against the door and crosses his arms. He looks at ease enough except for that curl of his lips. Looks like he's figuring out how to dismember me and make it look like an accident. Sweat drips down his face and slides down his neck. I follow it with my eyes. It's a low cut shirt well worn, and it's sticking to him completely. If it were white, it'd be transparent. 

"And really," Baz says, and I jerk my head up to meet his eyes. "Your jazz shoes? That's the best you can do? As if I would stoop so low." He huffs a bitter laugh. "In fact, wasn't it you who knocked my best ballet shoes out of my hands and into the mud on the way to class when we were fourteen?" 

I feel myself flush. "That was an accident," I defend. 

"Was it?" Baz drawls. 

"Yes, it was," I say. "And I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know what to say. Gilmore was just staring at me expectedly." 

"Say nothing," Baz says. "It's easy. You do it all the time." 

"I couldn't just say nothing," I argue. "Not when they had footage of our argument, which by the way, could have been avoided altogether if you weren't such an asshole!" 

"I'm the asshole, huh?" Baz says lightly. "Didn't _you_ break up with _me_?" 

I don't like that face he's making right now. That's his plotting face. 

"Baz," I start, but he's already moving. 

"I'll be a bit late to practice Snow," he says, brushing past me. He's close enough that I can smell his shampoo even over his sweat—cedar, bergamot, and something else that's just pure Baz. I swallow.

He stops at our bathroom door and gives me a smirk. "I have an interview scheduled." 

I watch numbly as he closes the door. I hear the shower turn on. 

Yeah, I'm doomed. 

**Baz**

I'm doomed. We're doomed Snow and I. We're watching our behind the scenes footage right before we're supposed to perform in front of the judges and the rest of the world. 

Snow is going to get pissed off when he sees mine, and then I have to dance the foxtrot with him. A dance that requires a clear mind and solid focus. 

I already knew I was a bit doomed when I saw Snow's get up for tonight. A fitted dark blue suit that brings out his eyes and clings to him in all the right places. They've done something with his hair too. His curls are looking shiny and put together for once. I want to run my fingers through them. 

So I'm doomed because he's beautiful and he's doomed because he's going to be half a beat from going off and so we're doomed together because neither of us will have a clear mind or a solid focus. 

This is going to be a shit show. 

At least it will be a good looking shit show. My look for tonight matches the blue color Snow's wearing, but my shirt has a deep v, and the bit of my chest that it covers is mesh with a subtle, sparkling criss-cross detail. My trousers are the same color, but they flair out more at the bottom and have that same subtle sparkling criss-cross detail down the legs. My hair was left loose, but they added a few pins to keep it from falling in my face. 

I'm standing next to Snow, waiting for our signal to go on. They're rolling footage, but instead of focusing on that, Snow is staring at me. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he looks away from me. Now finally facing the screen. 

"Snow and I broke up our last year of school," I'm saying to Gilmore while giving him my well-practiced neutral look. 

"And he broke it off?" They'd played his interview just before mine. Apparently, they've decided to close on mine. 

"Yes," I answer, and in a well thought out move, look at the floor then back up at our host. "He did." 

"Was that difficult for you?" Gilmore asks, putting on a more gentle tone taking his cue from me. 

"I'd prefer not to discuss it," I say, glancing towards my right, avoiding eye contact. 

"Baz," Gilmore says and reaches over and pats my hand. 

I act like that convinces me. I meet Gilmore's (or well the camera's eyes). My face is still neutral enough, but it doesn't look as easy now. "We were supposed to go to our leaver's ball together," I admit. "But he stood me up. I waited outside the hall doors only to find him coming up the stairs on the arm of a girl in our year." The neutral mask cracks, and a bit of heartbreak slips through. 

Gilmore gasps. Snow also gasps. 

"He didn't tell you?" Gilmore asks. 

"No," I answer in a dull tone. "He didn't. I didn't stick around to question his motives or to hear his reasoning. I just left." I laugh bitterly. "I spent the evening in our dorm, making a study of the ceiling." 

Snow whips his head around to face me. "What the fuck, Baz!" he demands. An aid gives him a dirty look and shushes him. 

Snow looks a bit guilty and lowers his voice. "What the fuck?" he says again. 

"You started it," I whisper. 

"The leaver's ball!" he hisses. "Really? You didn't even go to that!" 

I smirk at him. It wasn't entirely a lie, the best lies always have a bit of truth to them, and the truth is I did see Simon Snow coming up the steps with Philippa Stainton that night, and the sight was too much for my teenage heart to bare so I turned back to our room before Snow could see me. I did spend my leaver's ball staring at our ceiling. Crying a little over the thought of Snow dancing with his girlfriend, but mostly crying because that would have been the last time I ever saw him dance and I was missing it. 

Only it wasn't the last time I would see Simon Snow dance. Took a few years, but here we are, and I'm not standing off to the sidelines pining pathetically no now I'm dancing with him. 

It would almost be a dream come true if he weren't glaring at me. 

"Come on, Snow," I say as they give us the signal. "Let's dance a foxtrot. You can plot your revenge later." 

"You're the plotter," Snow mutters, but takes my hand and leads me out onto the ballroom floor. 

The crowd is clapping at our entrance. Snow takes his place a step away from me. I'm standing in the middle of the floor, and I can hear the smoke machines turn on behind me. 

The music starts playing, and we cross the space separating us. I turn my body slightly and slide my hand up his right arm until it rests just below Snow's shoulder. His left hand reaches to cup the back of my neck briefly before pulling back and meeting my free hand. We've transitioned into closed position now. We take a moment, then when the singer starts singing, Snow walks me backwards then leads me through turn after turn until we're gliding across the floor, smoke billowing around us. 

He spins us through the last turn faster then twirls me. I keep a firm grip on his hand and slide my left foot forward and reach my left hand outward, my fingers grasping at nothing before he pulls me back into his hold. My back is pressed against his front, and he slides his hand down my side grabbing my waist, and I rest my free hand on it. His opposite hand is still gripping mine. Snow leads me into a half turn, letting go as he turns, and we take a few steps to the right while he switches hands behind me before positioning his left hand below my ribs. I extend my arms out in his hold, leaning back slightly before Snow leads me forward, switching hands again. I keep my right hand above his and hold his other hand in mine. He leads us back across the floor, then lifts the arm connecting us and turns me behind him. I finish the spin by grabbing his other hand and using the momentum to pull me through. Then I grab his shoulder and push until he's facing me again. 

My right arm closes around his neck, and my left rests on his chest. His left is on my lower back, and our faces close together. He reaches his right hand and covers my left. My fingers are longer, but his hand is wider. He leads me through a side-step then twirls me. We keep our right and left hands connected, but throw out the other two. He pulls me towards him again, and I slide my left leg across and meet him, grabbing his other hand and transitioning us into promenade step. 

We guild across the middle of the ballroom, spin away once, meet back in the middle and slip back into closed position. Snow leads me back a few steps then tilts me back into a dip. I gently kick my leg up, and he turns me to the opposite side against his chest and tilts me the other way. Then we're back in closed position and Snow's leading me across the floor, spinning us a few times before we reach the middle, and he lets go of one of my hands and drops down onto his back knee. I lean back dramatically casting my free hand over my head in a graceful arc. I glide forward, still holding one of his hands until his free arm wraps around my waist, and we spin once before he slowly rises and twirls me. We're both standing now, and I wrap my arm back around his neck and grip my other hand just below his shoulder I lean back and kick my leg up. He pulls me up halfway, and with both hands on my waist spins us. I keep one leg out at my side foot extended; my other foot barely lifted off the ground as we spin. He keeps spinning us as I return my leg to the ground. Then I put my hands around his hips, and he lifts me higher until my feet float off the ground as we keep spinning. 

He gently returns me to the ground. Then spins me away from him. Then Snow pulls me back into a closed position leading me backwards across the floor. Snow tilts me back into a dip again, then pulls me back up and then spins me out away from him. I fall back towards him, and his hands tucked under my arm, and Snow spins me again. I follow, then once my feet are back on the ground, he spins me back into his arms. 

The music slows. His arms are around me. I'm pressed against him with both hands on his chest. One of his hands is against my upper back the other just below it. We're forehead to forehead both of us breathing hard.

This is almost an embrace. Snow wasn't supposed to have pulled me in this tightly. I don't know what to do with my hands, but the song is over now, so I guess it doesn't matter.

I'm staring into his boringly blue eyes with their short lashes and never-ending fire. My heart is starting to race. I want to push my fingers through his curls. 

Instead, I push against his chest until he finally gets the hint and lets me go. 

We're standing there staring awkwardly at each other until Gilmore's voice over the speakers announces, "Simon and Baz!" And the crowd starts applauding. I even hear a few whistles. 

Snow and I walk over to the judges keeping a good amount of space between us. Agatha is already there. Gilmore joins us, and he doesn't say anything for a few moments just allows the crowd to continue cheering for us. 

"That was great," Ebb is saying, and she's clapping. "Really, Simon, you've made so much progress as a lead since last week." 

I turn my head a little. Snow's smiling and nodding, still looking a little dazed. I don't know what's wrong with him. "Thank you," he says. "I've been working on it." 

"And Agatha," Ginger says. "Fabulous choreography, really well done." 

Agatha smiles prettily. "Thank you." 

"And of course, Baz," Lamb says, giving me a pleased grin. "You're perfect as always. Textbook technique." 

I incline my head, and his smile widens. Snow huffs, but the microphone is too far away to pick it up. 

"Good good," Gilmore says, then motions us away. "Go and get your scores." 

We nod and then head towards the back. 

"You guys did much better than I hoped you would," Agatha says when we're backstage. "Especially after I watched your behind the scenes." 

"Ah, huh," Snow is saying. I can tell he's not really paying attention. I've no idea where his head is at right now.

"What was with that last hold, though?" Agatha asks. "It was supposed to end in a dip." 

"Oh," Snow says, coming back to Earth. "I dunno, it just felt right." 

Typical Snow messing with the routine he never changes. 

Agatha laughs. "Well, it did look good, at least. I hope that won't hurt our scores." 

"Knowing Snow probably not," I interject. 

"How's that?" Snow asks. 

"You're a lucky dancer, remember," I say, then walk faster ahead of the two of them. 

"Well, boys," Shepherd the other host of the show greets us with, "That was a very interesting behind the scenes, wasn't it?" 

"I suppose," I say. 

"So dramatic," Shepherd continues. "Let's get those scores." 

We all look at the screens. 

"Ebb?" 

Ebb smiles. "Nine." 

Snow gasps. 

"Ginger?" 

Ginger winks. "Eight." 

"Lamb?" 

Lamb looks pleased but still neutral. "Nine." 

I'm shocked. 

"That's," Simon starts. 

"Twenty-six," Shepherd announces cheerfully. "Congrats, you two. That's much better than your twenty last week." 

"No, kidding," Snow says. 

This is the highest score he's gotten, I think. Snow turns to me, and it almost looks like he's half a second away from hugging me just like all the other partners do before he remembers who I am and hugs Agatha instead. 

I try not to be bitter about it and accept the water bottle an aid passes me. 

A twenty-six, huh? Maybe we aren't doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 5:42 on a monday morning. but really what does time mean anymore anyway? so what if I go to bed at six am and wake up at three pm? that's still sleep I'm getting right there and that is better than whatever the hell I was doing before.
> 
> probably. 
> 
> maybe. 
> 
> ah, sliver linings? 
> 
> -still sleep deprived.
> 
> also if anyone is curious here's a link to the dance I based simon and baz's foxtrot off of   
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1ZW-Y3IrzM)
> 
> I added some slight changes of course. 
> 
> also for fun here's a link to the picture I based baz's shirt on [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/67342956911601026/)
> 
> I also changed a few things there too, but that was the inspiration. 
> 
> um enjoy that. 
> 
>   
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	3. salsa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> penny and simon brainstorm ideas on a whiteboard. baz hates nightclubs and fun. trixie didn't sign up for this, and simon once turned his whites pink. 
> 
> leading and following are both fundamental parts of dance. simon and baz are much better at the former, but they might be making progress with the later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, void
> 
> so recent events, huh? that's a lot. I'm not going to say anything about it here (I'll save that for my tumblr) but I will say that I hope life is treating you well, and that you're staying safe. 
> 
> it'll be okay. eventually. maybe if we're lucky it will even be _better_ than okay. isn't that a thought? 
> 
> anyway onto this dance au. 
> 
> enjoy?

**Simon**

Penny doesn't look optimistic when I facetime her tonight. We try to video chat at least once a week, usually late in the evening, as I'm always busy with the show. 

"I know that it's fake," she says. "but damn Baz is a good actor."

"He's good at everything," I mutter bitterly. 

"Not true," Penny disagrees. 

"Close enough," I say. 

Penny waves a dismissive hand. "Any way that bit about you showing up with your _actual_ secondary school girlfriend to the leaver's ball? That really hurt your score with the audience," Penny reports. 

"How can it be worse than last week?" I ask. "I did awful last week."

"Your and Baz's whatever has been working in both your favors, I told you that you're the most popular topic on the forums."

"But Baz's lie interfered with that?"

"He's pulling further ahead in rankings than ever," Penny says. "He's always been viewed as a cold perfectionist. He's never had the heart that other contestants like you do. So this did a lot for making his image more approachable, even relatable. Everyone's had a heartbreak." 

"That prick," I groan and put my head in my hands. "I can't believe he went that far." 

"You can't?" Penny asks dubiously. 

I lift my head. "No, I suppose I can. I'd just hoped that being partners and all would make him ease off a little."

"No offense Si," Penny says. "But he probably doesn't want you as a partner."

"So he'd be fine if I got eliminated, you mean?" I translate. 

"Essentially," Penny confirms. 

"Great," I say, fighting the urge to return my head to my hands. "What can I do, Pen? He's got me beat." 

"Oh posh," Penny says. "That doesn't sound like you, Simon. So Baz won the week. Win the next one." 

"Baz always wins," I say, defeated. 

"Well, he certainly will with that attitude," Penny says with an eye roll. "Come on. I'll help you brainstorm ways to shift the tide."

"You hate when I talk about Baz, though," I point out. 

"Yeah, well, I want you to win more," Penny says, giving me a warm smile. "I can handle your obsession with Baz." 

"It's not an obsession."

Penny just gives me another eye roll. 

We spent two hours brainstorming ideas. Penny even set up a whiteboard. 

"There was that time when he made all of my clothes pink," I suggest.

"Simon, I'm still not convinced that it was Baz," Penny says. 

"No, it was him," I disagree. "He made fun of me for an entire week." 

"It took you until fifth year to learn how to wash your clothes properly," Penny says. "It is completely possible you washed something red in your whites." 

I grumble. 

"And," Penny continues. "That isn't exactly on the same level as the thing he accused you of doing." 

"I know," I sigh. "I honestly don't know how to respond, Pen. He's always been better at this stuff than me." 

"Hmm," Penny says thoughtfully. "That is true. He made your life miserable for years." 

"He did," I mutter, thinking of every nasty comment and belittling feedback. "He always made me feel small, and like I didn't belong at Watford." 

"Okay," Penny says. "We can work with that." 

I blink at her. "We can?" 

"Yeah," Penny says. "No one likes a bully." 

"Okay, well, there was that time in third year when…." I start.

An hour passes, and now Penny's board is completely covered in various ideas and childhood stories. "I think this is a good start," Penny says, then yawns. "But I should get some rest. I'm meeting with my advisor tomorrow." 

"About the assistant position?" I ask. 

Penny nods, and I know her well enough to tell that she's nervous. 

"Well, good luck," I say, smiling. Penny is brilliant. "I'm sure you'll do fine." 

"Thanks, Simon," Penny says. "You should get some rest too. You're getting your choreography tomorrow, right?" 

I nod. "Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it." 

"Cheer up," Penny says. "We'll figure this out. You'll get that scholarship and come join me in New York as we've always planned." 

"Yeah," I say. That's always been our plan since second year at Watford. We'd both go to Julliard together Penny for acting and me for dance. After we graduated, we'd move back to England, where Penny would star in Shakespearean plays at the Globe, and I'd open up my dance studio where I could recruit kids like me who don't have the resources, but the talent. 

Of course, before it had sounded like a dream, but now that I'm here on the show, it feels within my reach. Just the reminder is enough to make me square my shoulders. 

Penny smiles. "There's the Simon I know. We'll talk tomorrow." 

"Goodnight, Pen," I say, and Penny waves as I end the call. 

**Baz**

When I get to the studio, I'm greeted with the sight of Snow dancing with Trixie. I freeze in the doorway. 

They're pressed together. Her hand is cradling the back of his neck, and his hand is on her waist. His knee between her legs as she shakes her hips side to side to the music. 

I know that Trixie is half of the other same-sex couple on the show. I know that she is dating her dance partner Keris. I know that she's our choreographer for this week. 

That doesn't stop the knot in my stomach from tightening when she turns in Snow's arms, her back now pressed against his front as his hand slides up her leg. 

The door swings shut behind me, and they stop dancing at the sound. 

"Oh, there you are, Baz!" Trixie chirps as she steps out of Snow's hold. "I was going over some of the routine you'll be doing with Simon!" 

My chest freezes over even more. That's part of the routine? 

Trixie is still talking as she walks over to the speakers and turns off the music. "I'm so looking forward to this routine," she's saying. "I've never choreographed for a pair like you two, so I'm sure it will be challenging. Agatha and Vincent actually warned me! Can you believe it?" 

She spins around so fast I almost get whiplash. She is still beaming brightly. "I'm up for the challenge, of course. Luckily enough, salsa is my favorite style. I'm aces at it. I'm sure you'll agree if you saw my routine with Keris last week." 

Does she ever stop talking?

Wait, did she say salsa? 

I swallow. 

Snow hasn't looked at me since I arrived other than that brief glance when he heard the door shut. He's looking at Trixie, and his smile is almost as wide as hers. 

I bet he wishes that she was his partner. 

They did look good together. 

"Anyway," Trixie says, somehow still talking. "It's not a terribly complicated routine. I'm sure you two will get it." She claps her hands together. "Let's get started!" 

Snow nods eagerly. I sigh in resignation. 

I hate salsa. It's my least favorite ballroom style. There are no set rules to it outside of the basic steps and counts. It's freeform enough to be popular in nightclubs. _Nightclubs_. I also hate nightclubs. The music is always too loud and trashy, and the people are always too drunk and handsy. There's no grace to club dancing, and there is never enough room. 

In contrast, Snow loves salsa and club dancing. He's good at both too. There were a few times over our tenure at Watford, where our class had gone out to clubs to dance. A bunch of showoffs the lot of them. I'd only ever come along because my idiot cousin and best friend dragged me. 

It wasn't a good time. I was out by then, so I didn't have to worry about any of our female classmates coming on to me, but it was barely a concession when I had to watch as they turned their attentions on Snow. Snow, of course, loved it. He danced with anyone who asked. It never failed to turn my stomach. It got better when he started dating Stainton, but then, of course, I had to watch as he danced with her. 

I suppose I didn't have to watch, but Snow is impossible to take your eyes off when he dances freely. Snow is a beautiful dancer though not a typical one. Every move is chaotic and forceful, like he needs to submit the beats he hits by striking them hard enough. He's happy too. He always has a giant smile on his face. 

Dancing has always been a part of my life. It's part of who I am. It's in my blood. But I'll never love dancing as much as Simon Snow. He comes alive when he dances. He'd always been a quiet kid (outside of his temper) even had a stutter for years. He'd kept himself small, except when he danced. Then he wasn't afraid to fill up a room, to have every eye on him. He'd shine like the sun glowing from within. 

It's beautiful. It's one of the reasons I love him. 

"Baz?" Snow asks. I blink, and he's standing in front of me, staring. 

I shift my face into a sneer. "What?"

"The routine," he says. He holds out his hand. "We're going to go through it now before the cameras get here." 

"Right," I say and accept his hand. 

**Simon**

This routine was a lot easier when I was going through it with Trixie. She's smaller than me for one, she's much easier to lead, and she doesn't glare at me when I put my hands on her hips. 

Baz hasn't stopped glaring this whole time. It's different from his usual focused look, which is icy enough on its own. He's basically a glacier now from his freezing eyes to how stiff he is in my arms. 

It's like dancing with a statue. 

"Baz," Trixie says for the fourth time. "You need to loosen up." 

"I am loose," Baz says, and his eyes get colder. 

Trixie shakes her head. "I know you're not used to being a follow, but you haven't had trouble with it before, what's different now?" 

"Baz hates salsa," I offer, and it makes Baz pull out of my hold completely. 

He crosses his arms. "No, I don't." 

"Yes, you do," I say. "I know you do. You've told me a hundred times." 

"I just don't like it as much as other styles," Baz says instead of agreeing. 

I roll my eyes. 

"Why don't you like it?" Trixie asks. "It's fun." 

"That's why he hates it," I say. "He hates fun." 

"I don't hate fun," Baz snaps. 

"Could've fooled me," I toss back. 

Trixie sighs. "You two are impossible," she notes to no one in particular before returning her attention to Baz. "You're a good dancer Baz," she says. "You're adaptable. You didn't plan on being a follow, and you've done great so far." 

Baz looks suspicious, but nods. 

"Now that you've got that down," Trixie says. "You need to learn to enjoy it. Being a follow is a lot of fun! You get to spin and be twirled and do lifts and holds. Really there is a lot about it that's fun!" 

"I don't dance for fun," Baz says crossly. 

"Well, maybe you should," Trixie says then pauses. "Why do you dance then?" 

There's an emotion on Baz's face that's there and gone in a flash. "Because I'm good at it," he says finally. "Why do anything?" 

Trixie shakes her head. "Well, do me a favor and try, okay? I promise it won't kill you, and it will even help us win this week. You want to win, don't you?" 

Baz huffs then nods. "Yes, I do." 

"Then you need to relax," Trixie says then slaps his shoulder. 

Baz mutters something darkly but does return to my hold. 

"She's right," I say as Trixie walks over to restart the music. 

"I know," Baz says. "That's why I agreed." 

"Not about the winning," I say. "But about having fun. I've never seen you enjoy yourself before. You're always so serious." 

"Dancing is a serious matter," Baz argues. 

"No, it isn't," I say, and when the music starts up, I curl my hands around his chest just below his ribs.

Baz lifts his arm removing his hand from my face, and I use my hold on him to spin him until his back is pressed against me. 

"It is," he's still arguing with me while my hand is sliding up his leg, and he's grabbing my thigh. 

"Just because it can be difficult," I say as he spins out of my hold, twirling across the floor. 

I follow him, sliding on my knees. "Doesn't mean it can't also be fun." 

He comes to a stop, rolls his body forward, sliding his hands up his sides, then transitioning into quick step. I copy his movements our feet kick back on the same beat. "Fun is for children," he says as we slide in opposite directions meeting in the middle and turning to face each other. 

"That's bullshit," I protest as our fingers lock in one hand, and he presses his other palm against mine and pushes back. 

"No, it's called growing up, Snow," he says, turning his body away and flicking his free hand up and tossing his hair dramatically. 

I pull him back towards me he reaches for my free hand and using both hands I sweep him around and then under my feet. 

"You should try it," he adds when I pull him back through my legs until he's facing me again. 

I'm starting to get a little pissed off now, and I'm more forceful than I intend to be when I slide my hands up his body, pressing my fingers into his hips and chest firmly. 

Something in Baz's eyes flickers then darkens as he hands cover mine until he's holding them again, and we switch into open position. My stomach flips. 

Our speed increases as we spin over, and under each other, our hands still joined together. I'm feeling warm as I spin Baz away from me then pull him back, grabbing his other hand again until his back is against my front. 

My stomach hasn't had a moment to settle, and it tightens now, a shiver going through me as we lift our arms up together, separate, and I return my hands to his hips. Baz covers his hands in mine again as he shakes his hips side to side. Without thinking, my fingers tighten, pressing into his hip bones, and I feel him shudder. He's pressed close against me. My face is almost in his hair. 

My head feels heavy, but my body feels light as he brings his arms up, holding one against his chest that I grab and use to spin him out of my hold. Baz's free hand flicks out again as he turns his body away from me. I yank him back into another twirl, and he uses the momentum to glide into my arms. His legs wrap around my waist; one of his hands goes around my neck, and he grips my bicep with the other. We're spinning. Baz is tucked into my elbow as I brace his weight against my forearm. My free hand grabs his thigh, and I can feel his muscles flex as I tilt him back, and he rolls his body along with me. Everywhere we're touching feels hot. 

Through the fog in my head, I manage to plant my feet firmly on the ground and flip him over my shoulders, keeping a firm grip on him the whole time. 

Baz slides down my back, wraps his arms around my upper thighs, and when his feet hit the ground, I reach down and catch him and pull him back to his feet. Baz is loose in my arms now smoothly, going where I lead him. It's making my heart race and the twist in my stomach pull tighter.

We're chest to chest, forehead to forehead, his right arm around my waist, and my left hand on his lower back. We're both breathing hard, and I feel caught staring into Baz's eyes. His dark lashes are fluttering, and he's blinking at me like he is just as taken aback, just as trapped and unable to look away. 

I'm not thinking at all. My mind is pleasantly blank. My eyes flick down to his lips. They're parted slightly with his breath, and they look soft. I'm leaning up when the music cuts off. 

It jolts me back into reality and I let go of Baz. 

"That was great, guys!" Trixie is saying brightly, but I'm still looking at Baz. 

He's not looking at me, though. Baz's shoulders are pulled together tightly, and there's an emotion on his face that I've never seen before. 

"I'm worn out," he says, finally lifting his head. His face is back to its cool mask. "Can we continue this later?" 

"I suppose so," Trixie says. "You two made more progress than I'd hoped you would. We can go over the rest of the routine next session." 

"Great," Baz says, but the smile he gives her feels forced. "I'll be going then." 

"All right," Trixie says, shrugging easily. "Simon, if you're not tired, we can go over some of it again if you like?" 

"Um," I say, watching as Baz picks up his things. He looks up at me, sneers then gets to his feet. "Sure, that sounds helpful." 

"Great," Trixie says as I watch Baz open the door to the studio. 

As it swings shut behind him, I have the strangest urge to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 6:25 on a wednesday night. I actually did the proper thing this time and wrote this chapter during the day! who would have thought? I mean I was still up till 5 in the morning, but hey baby steps. 
> 
> -still sleep deprived.
> 
> again if anyone is curious here are some links to the two dances I based baz and simon's salsa [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YcR7PxJJsI) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ef5uK-0zJy4)
> 
> I used the first one mostly, but I did add some elements of the second. and hey they are a lot of fun to watch. 
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	4. argentine tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys are assigned new partners in the name of adaptability. simon is not waiting up for baz. agatha walks on air and trixie is extremely flexible.
> 
> jealously isn't always a physical thing.
> 
> and it's good that the argentine tango is a very angsty dance because baz has that in spades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, void
> 
> how have you been? hope you've been well. sorry about the delay this chapter was giving me a rough time. 
> 
> so normally I only have to write one routine per chapter, but this chapter I needed to write two, and that proved a bit challenging. still, I hope this is up to standard. I really tried and now I am really tired. 
> 
> so yea
> 
> enjoy?

**Baz**

I had to get out of there. I couldn't stand to be near Snow any longer. There was a moment where I thought he was looking at my lips. I almost did something stupid. 

Being that close to him must be driving me insane. 

I need a break from him. I don't know how long my self-control will last if he keeps looking at me like that. 

Years of living in the same room as him, and I'm going to break because of a dance routine? No, I won't allow it. _Salsa_ isn't going to get the best of me. I'm stronger than a couple of flashy holds. 

I just need to keep a larger distance between us. I can't allow myself to lose control like that. 

So I keep my distance. 

When he gets in from practice with Trixie later that night, I don't come out of my room. I stay locked in with a book. 

I make sure that the only time he sees me is during practice, and then I immediately leave afterward. I'm probably not giving Trixie the best impression, but alas being rude is better than letting Salsa win. 

It works. Even during our performance for the judges, I don't slip. I don't let Snow in. There isn't a moment to be had between us (no weirdly prolonged eye contact or staring at lips here, just professional dance partners). 

Maybe that hurt our score, but I can't bring myself to care. Keeping Snow at arm's length (figuratively, if not literally) is more important. 

I don't even give Gilmore any tidbits of information to feed to the audience. I'm done. I don't want to have anything to do with Snow. 

It keeps in this same vein until I get the call to meet everyone in the commons. 

We usually get our assignments for the week as a group so that people can pair off accordingly. So when Gilmore and Shepard walk in, I don't find anything unusual in it.  


Until I see the eager look on Shepard's face, that doesn't bode well. 

"Okay, guys," Shepard chirps. "So, we are going to be doing something a little different this week." 

There's a long pause where I know dramatic music will be added in post. 

"You're going to be switching dance partners!" Gilmore finishes just as cheerfully. As if he didn't drop that bomb. "Just for this week, of course." 

My back straightens. 

Everyone starts talking. I turn my head to where Snow is standing next to me. His mouth is open a little. 

"Do we get to pick our new partners?" Agatha asks, looking consideringly at me. 

"No," Gilmore says. "We've picked your partners for you." 

"So, how is this any different from usual?" Keris asks, resting an elbow on Trixie's shoulder. 

"It's about adaptation," Shepard explains. "A sign of a good dancer is how quickly they can adapt their styles to new situations, in this case, new partners." He smiles brightly. "Don't worry. I'm sure you will all do fine." 

Well, I did say I wanted some distance from Snow. 

I end up being paired with Agatha, which is just as well, really considering we are both in the lead. We also get the Argentine Tango, which is perfect because I already have a dance choreographed. That's another thing that's changing this week. Going forward, we will be choreographing our routines with our dance partners, which means that after this week, I will be forced to choreograph with Snow (assuming we both make it to the next round). Everyone was relieved. It's one less thing we need to do every week, but honestly, I'd take the heavier workload if it meant spending less time with my partner. 

Snow gets paired with Trixie. I'm sure he's delighted about that. 

**Simon**

"I don't understand why they are changing the rules this late into the show, Pen," I tell her while keeping an ear on the front door for Baz. He still isn't back yet. 

"Drama," Penny says. "Why else would they do it?" 

"And why Agatha?" I continue ignoring her question. It was rhetorical anyway. 

"What do you mean, Agatha?" Penny asks. "You're paired with Trixie, aren't you?" 

"Baz is paired with Agatha," I say and cross my arms. 

"What's that to do with you?" Penny asks me. 

It seems she isn't following, so I explain it to her. "Agatha and Baz are currently leading in the ranking, yeah? So putting them together isn't fair to the rest of us. It's like," I wave a hand, "an advantage." 

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much," Penny reassures. "Trixie is a great dancer, and you two have good chemistry, right? Plus, this might even be a relief for you, Si. I know how much you hate dancing with Baz every week." 

I give that thought then shrug. "Yeah, maybe," I say. "But it still isn't fair." 

"No, but it's reality TV," Penny points out. "They rarely deal in fair." 

"You're right," I agree, but it is still bothering me—the thought of Baz dancing with Agatha. 

Of course, Baz gets paired up with her. They are both the best dancers of the group, and they look good together, his dark black to her pale gold or whatever. I bet the reason they made them dance partners is that they'd look good on the weekly promotional material. 

Begs the question of why they didn't just make the two of them partners from the start. Maybe they thought I wouldn't make it this far (that's a fun thought). 

Baz still isn't back from practice with Agatha even after I spend two hours catching up with Penny. I check the time. It's almost ten. What are they doing practicing so late?

At half-past ten I hear the front door open. I peek my head out of my room. 

Baz is wearing joggers again, and he turns to look at me as I approach him. "What Snow?" he asks, already sounding irritated. 

"Why were you out so late?" I demand before I can think about it. 

"Why's that your business?" Baz says, coming further into the room and shutting the door behind him. 

"Because I live here," I say. Yeah, that sounds reasonable. "So, I'd like to know if your practices with Agatha are going to be running late." 

"What are you waiting up for me now?" Baz drawls. "Appreciate the concern, Snow. But I don't need a babysitter." He eyes me. "Or a stalker." 

"I'm not waiting up for you!" I argue (even if that's exactly what I was doing). "I'd just rather not be awoken in the middle of the night." 

"Spare me," Baz says with an eye roll. "You sleep like the dead, and it isn't like I trample through rooms like a herd of elephants like some people I know." He eyes me again. 

"Just don't stay out so late," I say, feeling my cheeks get hot. 

"You're not my keeper," Baz sneers then brushes past me. 

I grab his arm. I'm not sure why. 

Baz groans in exasperation. "Seriously, Snow, what is your problem?" 

"My problem is you coming back late," I say. "You've been coming back later and later this week. Trixie and I don't practice that long." 

"Don't tell me you miss my company?" Baz drools. He sounds unbothered, but I noticed he tensed up when I mentioned Trixie. "And for the record, I'm not spending my entire night practicing my routine with Agatha. I have my solo routine, or have you forgotten? And barring that I like working out at night. I find it refreshing to be the only one at the gym." 

He gives me a dismissive once over. "Any more questions, Chosen One?" 

I flinch at the nickname. It's the one Baz and a couple of other boys in our grade gave me to belittle me, the scholarship kid with nothing to his name. Maybe I'll bring that tidbit up to Gilmore. 

"No," I say, letting go of his arm and stepping back. 

"Thank you," Baz says, sarcastically inclining his head before heading for the shower. 

I watch him for a moment before shaking my head and returning to my room. Baz is back, and he isn't practicing with Agatha late into the night. I finally feel relaxed enough to sleep. 

_Probably because I know that they won't have that edge against us._

Of course, that reassurance evaporates when I walk into the studio the next day to Baz holding Agatha midair. 

She's pressed against his chest, one arm is around his back, holding him firmly while her free arm is gesturing in front of her face sorrowfully. Baz meanwhile is holding her upper torso, his other arm extended, and is gently gliding her down. It looks like she's walking on air as Baz maneuvers her onto his feet. Hers are dancing on his shoes as he spins on each heel, leading them in a circle before effortlessly transitioning them into a sharp turn. I feel breathless watching them. The amount of control and strength it takes to make that look so airy and graceful is twisting something up inside me. 

_Could Baz hold me like that?_

I feel warm. 

_No_ , I answer myself bitterly. _He couldn't. I weigh a lot more than Agatha._

I'm staring at their joined hands. Agatha's small delicate fingers are wrapped around Baz's like they belong there. 

_I'm the furthest thing from graceful._

Trixie bumps into me when I don't move further into the room. She nudges me until I get the hint and go inside. 

The sound of the door closing causes Agatha and Baz to pause and look at us. It's a moment before Baz let's go of Agatha's hand, and she steps out of his hold. 

"Oh, sorry," Agatha says, brushing her ponytail off her shoulder. Baz walks over to where their music is playing. "Is our time up then?"

"Yes," Trixie says, grinning. "Lost track of time?" 

"A bit," Agatha admits, returning her smile. "Suppose we got caught up in that last hold. It's really cool. Baz choreographed most of our routine, and this bit he has here is just ingenious. I can't wait for everyone to see it." 

"Well," Trixie says, tilting her head curiously. "You could always show us a bit now?" 

Something in my stomach turns over. 

"Better not," Agatha says, and the knot in my stomach releases. "You two have the studio for now. Best make use of it." She sends a smile over her shoulder at Baz. "We certainly won't go easy on you." 

Baz smirks back, looking smug, but he doesn't say anything as he returns his phone to his bag. 

"I wouldn't expect you to," Trixie says, her smile growing even wider. She's the type to enjoy a challenge. 

"Good," Agatha says, patting Trixie on the back on her way to the door. "I'll see you guys later then." She turns her attention back to her dance partner. "Baz, I talked to the staff, and they said they have a free space open later tonight. Do you want to get some more practice in?" 

"Why not?" Baz says, walking over to join Agatha. "It isn't like I have anything planned, and we should perfect that last hold." 

Agatha smiles up at him like he's brilliant. 

The knot returns with a vengeance. 

"Simon," Trixie says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. 

I blink and turn to face her. 

"Dance routine?" She reminds me, looking amused. "Remember?" 

"Ah yeah," I say sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. Watching as Agatha and Baz leave together. "Dance routine. Let's go." 

**Baz**

Agatha is standing next to me while the makeup team makes the finishing touches on my look. She looks lovely. Her hair is clipped back so that it's out of her face, but still allows her long blonde hair to flow down her back. Her clips are sparkling like starlight, and they bring out the glittery white and silver tassels of her backless dress. The dress is cut long in the front and shorter in the back, which allows her freedom of movement without sacrificing aesthetics. 

There's something almost angelic about it. 

It does nothing for me, of course, but I know beauty when I see it. 

"Feeling nervous?" she asks me. 

"Not at all," I say, extending my arms so that an aid can slide on my suit jacket. It's black with subtler hints of gold sparkle and a very faint floral pattern in a lighter shade of grey. I have matching black trousers tailored close, so they're almost form-fitting and black and gold shoes.

It's clear that some thought went into what we'd be wearing. Agatha and I are a study in contrasts. It's sure to look dramatic underneath the stage lights. 

"Are you?" I ask her. 

She shakes her head. "No, actually. We've gone over the routine to the point where we can do it flawlessly. It's a pity you're not my partner. I appreciate someone who values perfection as much as I do. I feel confident." 

I smile. "Good." I also enjoyed dancing with her this week. It was a nice break from Snow. I didn't have to be on my guard. I could just dance without any added tension or concern. 

I hear Snow's laugh from behind me, and I turn my head. He's talking with Trixie rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he's nervous. Trixie reaches over and pats his shoulder. 

Both of them are matched as well. Trixie is wearing a two-piece costume. A short red tassel skirt connected by a jeweled strap to what is essentially a bra made of the same red and flashy material. 

Snow is also wearing red. It's simple like his looks tend to be just a tight red button-down and black trousers. The only thing worthy of note is the low neckline. I've never seen this much of Snow's chest exposed during a performance. 

I swallow hard and turn back around. 

If I'm being honest as much as dancing with Agatha was a nice change of pace, I miss dancing with Simon. Tension and weird eye contact and all. I miss having an excuse to be close to him, even if it is painful. 

At least it's something. 

Snow and Trixie are up first, and Agatha and I will be dancing directly after them. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Snow offers his arm to Trixie. I switch my gaze up to monitor as the crowd greets them. 

The camera zooms in on Snow's face. He's smiling nervously and waves to the audience before taking his place in the middle of the floor. 

Trixie approaches him, and I watch as Snow flips her up into his arms (she's so small that she probably doesn't weigh anything). Balancing her carefully, he lifts her. Her back is to the crowd, and her legs are pressed tightly together as she points her toes. She looks like she's going to dive into a pool, and Snow's the diving board. Snow's not even shaking from her weight. He's entirely controlled with his legs set apart, and knees slightly bent even if he is lifting her almost completely over his head. 

The crowd claps at this demonstration of strength and flexibility. I lean a little closer. 

"Nice," Agatha says from next to me, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. "They have Salsa, right?" 

I nod. Salsa really is the bane of my existence. 

"Hm," Agatha hums. "Trixie is very good at Salsa. I heard she was the one who choreographed this routine." 

The music starts up Trixie spreads her legs apart (perfectly straight on either side) then at the next beat she snaps them together again. 

"That makes sense," I say dryly as Snow on the next beat drops her. 

Agatha gaps a little, but Trixie turns her legs in, and now she's balancing (still upside down) on Snow's crossed arms with her arms cast out at either side. 

"Impressive," Agatha notes as Snow swings Trixie into a bridal style carry and spins her. At the last beat, Trixie extends her leg and effortlessly slides into a cross body turn. As the music picks up, so do their movements, they're spinning and lifting faster and faster until Trixie is almost a blur dancing across the floor. 

Snow leads her into a split before lifting her back up again. They're dancing side by side, matching each other's movements before returning back to a cross-body lead. 

"Better than last week," I note and try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. 

"Well, Salsa isn't exactly your favorite, right?" Agatha comments, sending a curious look my way. "And you and Simon aren't really the greatest dance partners. You fight too much." 

"Yeah," I say, watching as Snow lifts Trixie and swings her around his body over his neck, then between his shoulders faster and faster. His hands are all over her as he spins. Her arm goes around his neck, and he turns them until she's back on the ground. 

"They have some nice moves," Agatha says. "Impressive lifts," she adds as Trixie leans back before flinging herself forward. Snow catches by her arms, and she bends through his open legs and pulls her back in a fantastic feat of flexibly on Trixie's part. 

"Yeah," I agree, unable to take my eyes off the monitor. There's a twist in my stomach.

And it isn't Trixie's legs wrapped around Snow's waist or her hands on his bare chest. It isn't even how closely they're pressed together.

It's the look on Simon's face. 

He's smiling. He almost looks like he's laughing. He's enjoying himself. 

_He never looks like that when we dance._

I'm glad when it's over. 

**Simon**

I'm so glad it's over. During practice, I was so worried that I would drop Trixie. She's so small that I worried I'd really hurt her, but she'd just waved my concerns away. 

_I'm a dancer Simon. We don't break easy, yeah?_

She's right, of course, but that didn't make me any less nervous. I never have to worry when I'm dancing with Baz because I don't care if I drop him. I don't care if I hurt him. He hurts me. I hurt him. Always been that way. 

So despite how exhilarating that was, I am thrilled it's over. Trixie is beaming at me, and she keeps slapping my shoulder excitingly ever since we got our scores. 

I can't help my wide smile either. I'm sure I look mental.

 _We got a thirty._

I can't believe we got a thirty. I've never scored that high. 

"Great job, guys," Agatha says when we walk up to the monitors. "That was a great routine, Trixie! Honestly, there were points where I'd thought you'd fall and break your neck." They've done Agatha up like an angel tonight. She's so shiny it's hard to look at her for long. 

Trixie's practically bouncing. "Thank you," she says, laughing. "But I was never in any danger." 

"Of course," Agatha says, giving me a smile of acknowledgment. I feel my cheeks get a little hot. 

I clear my throat. "Where's Baz? Aren't you two going on next?" 

"We are," Agatha says. "But hair and makeup changed their minds about something, so he's with them." 

"Bit last minute," I say, looking around again. 

"That's TV for you," Agatha says. She looks unconcerned. I'd be a wreck if that were happening to me. 

"They decided to put my hair up," Baz says, and I jump at the sound of his voice. "Honestly, why couldn't they have done that an hour ago?" 

"Who knows," Agatha says. "It looks good, though, and hey now, you have a clip like mine." She taps a silver clip on her head. 

I turn my head to look at Baz, and the moment I meet his eyes, I feel my heart start to race. If Agatha's an angel, then he's a fallen one. Dressed in all black with hints of gold to bring out the undertone in his skin. His hair is up, but little bits of it are framing his face. There's something different about him, and I thought it was just the hair, but the closer I'm looking, I realize that no, it isn't just the hair. 

Baz is wearing eyeliner. 

It brings out his eyes. Makes them look even more intense than usual more silver now than grey. 

I swallow. My heart hasn't had a chance to slow down yet. I'm probably still keyed up from dancing and then getting a thirty. Adrenaline, right? 

"I hear that congratulations are in order," Baz says. 

Trixie nods. "We got a thirty!" 

"Well done," Baz says (only to her I might add). 

"Thank you," Trixie says with a little bow. 

Baz turns to Agatha and offers his arm. "Well, Agatha, shall we see if we can top that?" 

Agatha grins and takes his arm. 

"There's no topping a thirty!" I call after him. "It's the highest score!"

"Spoken like someone who's never had a thirty," Baz says then winks. 

"Why is he like this," I mutter to no one in particular. 

Trixie gives me a sympathetic pat. 

I hear the crowd cheer, and I redirect my attention to the monitors. Baz and Agatha are pressed tightly together; heads turned in the same direction. One of Baz's arm is around her waist, and the other is holding her hand. 

The music starts, and Baz swings Agatha back, lifting her off her feet then spinning them across the floor. They shift into open position, then Baz slides in front of her, catching her around her waist and twirling her. 

It's like they're chasing each other, getting ready to attack. Baz leans back, and Agatha follows pressing back into him, lifting her leg as he pushes her back. They're only connected by one hand now, and they both lean to the side, getting lower and lower with each beat of the music before Agatha knocks her head back and returns to Baz's hold. 

From there, they're back to gilding across the floor with Baz lifting Agatha on every other beat. Both of their lines are neat and straight, not a hair out of place. 

They come to a stop at the far end of the floor, and Baz lifts Agatha again and turns her in his arms until Agatha's back is against his front. His arm pressed close to her upper torso. Agatha's legs cross behind his back and her head is tilted upward, her hair cascading down one arm flung out. 

He lifts her, and she leans back against his arms like she's floating on nothing. Baz moves one of her legs upwards, and she flicks her foot out on the beat. Then it looks like she's walking on air as Baz guides her into a circle keeping her steady from just his arm around her. 

Like before, I feel my chest tighten. 

There is so much emotion between them. Baz isn't cold with her. He's focused and passionate. There's a twist in my stomach that feels like the emotion on his face—that face of complicated agony. Agatha is the sorrow to his anger, but she is still meeting him beat by beat, not backing down. Just as focused and passionate as him. 

They're beautiful together. Dark and light. Angel and demon. They're dancing a story about love and hate and how easily they shift. They're fighting and fighting only to embrace and cling to each other. They can't escape even though being together hurts them. 

It's powerful, and it is making my chest hurt. 

I don't know what is causing it. Maybe I've just been caught up in the feelings of the routine. Or maybe I'm nervous because they are actually outshining Trixie and me. 

But all I'm thinking about is that look on Baz's face and how close he and Agatha are dancing. How I've never seen this much emotion from him in all the years I've known him. 

He's so present. He isn't cold. 

_He's always cold with me._

The dance ends with Baz on one knee, Agatha wrapped in his arms, holding her tightly to him, one of her legs pressed against his upper thigh. His face is against her chest, and hers is looking up. 

The music stops. 

The crowd roars. 

I can't bring myself to look away.

Even if it makes my chest tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 7:25 on a tuesday morning. I have not gone to bed yet. I have no excuses. 
> 
> -still sleep deprived.
> 
> here's a link to simon and trixie's [salsa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifKPOdYBTno)
> 
> and here's a link to baz and agatha's [argentine tango](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmQQicWegJA)
> 
> I hope I did them justice because they are honestly amazing. 
> 
>   
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


End file.
